Irrational
by Orange Socks and Polka Dots
Summary: After a humiliating and not-so-mysterious disappearance, Duffy returns to New York. Uneager to resume her role in high society, she is introduced to the Manhattan newsies.
1. Homecoming

**AN: Hello! I present you all with yet another story I may or may not follow up on. You can never really tell with flaky people like me. However, I'm pretty into my idea for this one, so we'll see how it goes. **

**This chapter... It's short and seriously lacking in boys that sing, dance and sell newspapers, I know. Both of these things will change. Just think of this as a semi-prolouge. Let me know what you think. I'm shallow, and reviews are like the only things that ever motivate me. :]**

* * *

I came off the boat unsteadily, my eyes frantically searching the crowded harbor. It was so loud, too loud. The grayness of this scene was stifling. The world was getting nosier, faster, busier, and I was left feeling catatonic. My muscles tensed and my stomach felt as though it was tied in knots. The overwhelming voices of strangers, the pelting rain, and the unfamiliarity left me gasping, struggling to retain my composure. The urge to scream, to cover my ears, to run, to react battled with all I'd been taught during my eight months in Vienna.

"Duffy?" A voice I knew called out from the mass of bodies like a beacon of safety. "Duffy!" My mother cried again, finding and embracing me. Her joyful yet gentle hold as well as my father's welcoming grin brought me back from the brink of panic. Soothed by their presence, I found myself emerging from my anxious trance. In his smooth tone, my father said, "Let's get you home, darling."

* * *

We arrived at our home, a luxury apartment on 5th Avenue. The ivory and gold adornments in the hall made me feel at home and secure. I found myself contemplating whether I could stay there forever. My fantasies of isolation were interrupted when my father cleared his throat and handed my luggage to Lloyd, our butler. "Drusilla?" He called me by my impractial, horrendous, yet true name.

"Yes?"

He looked unsure of what to say next. A sense of guilt welled up in my gut. This situation made him uncomfortable, though he would never admit it. In his defense, who could be prepared to handle a daughter like me? "We're glad to have you home," was all he eventually mustered, with a warm hand placed on my comparatively small shoulder. And somehow, this was the most appropriate exchange I could imagine.

Soon after, I retreated to the solace of my bedroom. The lavender walls and lacey curtains seemed childish, ironic even. I stretched out on the oversized four poster bed. It felt like exactly as it had the night of the incident. How could my bed, my room, my city have remained so static in these months when I had evolved into an entirely different woman?

"Baby doll?" My mother cooed from the other side of door, not long after I'd come to my room. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," I replied thoughtlessly.

She opened the door gingerly. That's how she did everything, ever so calmly. Every simple task poised and gentle. She was the perfect wife for a man like my father, the picture of what I should have been. I had been molded to be like her, to marry a wealthy man and quietly run his household. However, that life plan was now nothing more than a dream. I'd failed my parents. I'd failed myself.

Seating herself at my side on the bed, she took my hand. "We missed you very much," She said and carefully touched my caramel-colored curls. "It was lonely here, without your pretty smile."

Unable to meet her patient gaze, I smiled sadly at the floor. We sat quietly for a moment, maintaining a cautious composure. They don't teach you how to handle situations like this in the finishing schools I'd attended for years. There's no proper etiquette for a homecoming like this. In our silence, a bird chirping and a man laughing could be heard in the street from out of my open window.

We looked up towards each other, eyes meetings, and suddenly my tears of relief and uncertainty burst forth from my eyes. My mother instantly reached her frail arms around me creating a tight embrace which I folded in to. As sobs racked my body, she rocked me back and forth, wordlessly.


	2. Too Far

"I'm so sorry. I don't want to be this way." I said once I couldn't produce another tear, even if I'd wanted to.

"Baby, no, no, don't be sorry. It's not your fault." My mother assured me. "You have nothing to be ashamed of or sorry for. We're just so glad to have you back. We missed you so much this year"

I looked at her questioningly. "I was only gone eight months."

"Before you left for Europe, the girl living here wasn't you. But now, _you_, you're home, and everything has been worked out of you system." I desperately hoped she was right.

We sat comfortably during this lull in our conversation, until she spoke up again. "You know, your father and I weren't the only one's who missed you." I cocked my head, wordlessly asking for some elaboration. "Elizaveta has been a mess without you."

Eliza! Words couldn't describe how much I'd missed her. We had been inseparable since I was two weeks old. Our parents were the best of friends, and we'd happily followed suit.

"Oh, Mama, when can I see her?" I inquired childishly.

My mother gave me a benevolent, maternal smile, looking relieved. I supposed this was the first time since my arrival that I'd truly sounded like myself. "Well, she is attending the opera with her parents tonight. We were invited, but you must be exhausted. I couldn't throw you back in to all of that so suddenly."

"Let's go! Please." I said excitedly.

"No, princess. You can't."

"But, the opera is a perfect place to start. I only have to talk to everyone during intermission, and the rest of the time I'll be in the box."

"Honey, I just don't know if it's wise to spend your first evening home in the public eye. Don't you want a few days to settle in and relax?"

"No," I said, sadly. "I want to go back to the way things were. I want to be normal again."

"Well, I'll talk to your father, and see what he thinks." I nodded, as she rose and departed.

Alone again, I started to unpack my things: three suitcases, one footlocker and four hatboxes. In retrospect, I couldn't remember why I had thought there was a need to bring four gauzy party gowns, satin gloves in a wide array of colors, and a dozen hats to go to a secluded psychiatric ward.

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When it was eventually decided we would attend the theater that night, I met the news with excitement. As a maid pulled the strings of my corset, I felt unexpectedly at home within its confining grip on my abdomen. Compared to the cotton and muslin I'd become accustomed to in the institution, my silky sea-foam green gown, dainty heels and pearl hair-combs felt heavenly. I hadn't dressed like this since the night of the Incident, but I stubbornly repressed that memory. "Tonight is a celebration," I reminded myself. I refused to dwell on troubling things.

When the dressing and primping was all said and done, I felt a vague remembrance tug at heart strings. I approached my ornately-framed mirror and it seemed ghost of the joyous girl I was not so long ago smiled encouragingly at me through the glass.

I went from my room to the handsome parlor of the apartment. My parents received me with wide smiles. "Ravishing." My father said approvingly as he handed me a bouquet of flowers. I returned a grin and took his left arm, happy to be led back in to the world I knew so well.

The doorman in the lobby wished us an enjoyable evening, and opened the huge doors to the outside world. The raging storm of the morning had subsided, leaving the city refreshed and cleansed. The air smelled crisp, and the shadows of the trees played in the setting sun's pink light. I breathed it all in, in a state of ecstasy. My father helped me into his beloved car, with a smile that said, in spite of everything I'd always be his pearl. I was home, back to my perfect, fairytale world.

The theater, in all it's red velvet glory, seemed to welcome us in. Polite hellos and curious looks from my parents friends greeted me as we climbed the marble staircase towards the Bedeau's private booth.

On a landing on the stairs, my eyes finally fell upon the blonde head they'd been roving for. Upon seeing each other for the first time, Elizaveta and I abandoned decorum, running into each others arms. Our squeals were completely inappropriate, and undoubtedly attracted both attention and scorn. We didn't notice, too lost in the rapture of reunion to pay heed to our surroundings. Our friendship seemed unaltered by the separation. I was so relieved to find she wasn't afraid of me, despite my diagnosis.

"Duffy, Duffy, Duffy!" She cried happily, as I laughed. Abruptly, she pulled away and took my face in her hands. Giving me a stern look, she said, "Drusilla Cerelia Augustana Diamantopoulos, you must never, ever leave me like that again." Her use of my full name brought me back to our childhood and the winter afternoon I'd spent teaching her the proper pronunciation of my name.

I grinned and pulled her back into a hug. "Never, ever." We clasped hands and continued up the stairs, looking more like excitable children than young women. When I turned around, rather than looking abashed by my outburst, my parents beamed.

"There's just so much to tell you! Where can I even begin?" Elizaveta Bedeau was a fast talker, and an even faster thinker. In situations like these, her thoughts overwhelmed her and her mouth could barely form her words fast enough. Perhaps this is why she couldn't stop her recollection of life without me, even when the curtains opened. Mrs. Bedeau asked us to either settle down or excuse ourselves. Before I could mutter an apology, Eliza was whisking me outside.

We giggled as I said, "I didn't realize your mother was so dedicated to the show."

"Oh, no. She hates opera, she's just a bitch." She answered good-naturedly in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Liza!" I exclaimed at her crassness.

"Don't you act like it isn't the truth." She commanded.

Unsure of how to combat this, I simply muttered "Still…"

"Well, I didn't get kicked out for no reason-"

"I should have known you did that on purpose!" I interjected.

She gave me a look and continued, "Of course, I did, but that's not the point. No stop interrupting, or I'll never get to the exciting part!" She took a deep breath. "Well, you know how we always used to like 'slumming' before you left?"

I nodded, recalling the days Liza's adventurous nature had taken us to eat in diners and explore the downtown . "Oh, Duffy, isn't this food amazing? Who would have thought a hotdog could be so heavenly? I tell you what, we made the right decision about skipping that luncheon. We could have been eating finger sandwiched at this very moment. Ack!" She'd rant, waving a French fry around for emphasis.

"I think I may have taken it too far." She said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

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**Alright, I know. I'm filthy liar and you hate me. I promised you newsies, and there were none. Please don't stone me. They will be in the next chapter - I swear on my life. **

**Oh, and how about stepping up your review game? Slackers. Except Swindler. She is a gentleman and scholar. Emulate her. :]**

**Well that's all I've got to say. Thanks for reading and don't forget I love**love**love you all. Now get to blowin' up my e-mail account with review notifications. **


	3. Remembering Tibby's

I gave my smirking friend an uncomprehending look. "What?"

"Well, what else was I supposed to do?" The words spilled from her mouth hastily, toppling over each other. "They started it. Can you really blame me? I was so lonely and-"

"Stop, stop, stop. You aren't making any sense. Now, will you kindly act like a reasonable person and coherently explain?" I interrupted.

Eliza took a deep breath and mused, "Where to begin?"

The question was posed for dramatic purposes, and certainly not for me to answer. Nonetheless, I replied, "How about telling me who 'they' are?"

For a split second, she looked put out. If there was one thing Liza hated, it was a lack of appreciation for her theatrical flair. However, her excitement to tell her story overpowered her annoyance with me. "They? Oh, well _they_ are Jack, Blink, Crutchy, Mush, and Racetrack-"

With an incredulous expression I again asked "What?" I tried to piece together her words. Jack, well that one was easy. It was a name. Blink - that's a verb. Crutchy, I suppose it's a rough adjective. Mush and racetrack were nouns. How in the world could that all connect? Perhaps she'd met a crippled man named Jack who, in the blink of an eye, earned her affections, turning her into smitten mush at the racetrack? Maybe she'd gambled at the racetrack through a bookie named Jack, and he'd turned her money into nothing, mush if you will, on a lame horse named Crutchy Blink. However, I recognized all of my guesses as foolish soon after forming them.

"Why, Duffy! I'm talking about newsies!" Liza declared as if I was excruciatingly dense.

"You mean, those boys who sell newspapers?" I asked, yet to make a connection between these boys and her "slumming."

With a roll of her playful hazel eyes, Liza sarcastically replied "No, the ones who sell pianos."

"Newsies…" I turned the word over in my mouth. "Well, what about them?"

My question was initially met by another deep breath, and following that, another dramatic pause. I realized she'd been composing this story for a long time, and I correctly assumed that she would put all of her dramatic passion to use in its retelling.

"After you left, I was positively distraught. And there I was, in this city with three million people, and not a single one I could call a friend. I didn't know what to do with myself. I wandered aimlessly through the streets most days." I quirked an eyebrow. She understood my nonverbal question and answered, "My parents didn't mind a bit. They were all worked up about me, worrying about this and that. I tell you, Duffy, I could have run off to Kentucky and they wouldn't have minded. That's how long my leash was, from Fifth Avenue to Kentucky!"

She was getting off track. I redirected, "But you didn't go to Kentucky. Where did you go?"

"Well, I never thought much about where I was going until I got there. I kept ending up in all of our favorite places, like I'd expected to see you there. Tiffany's, Central Park, Montecello's, the like. One night at a party, all the girls were being absolutely wicked. You know how they hate me." Liza's colorful personality, attention-grabbing appearance and wild antics had repelled every debutante in the area, excepting me, of course. "I was just furious with them. I don't know why, but I was especially sensitive to the snobbery that particular evening. Regardless of why, I just walked out. I walked and walked, and suddenly I ended up in that shabby little luncheonette, Tibby's. Remember Tibby's?"

I nodded.

"It was just like it always had been - quaint, endearing, just darling. Well, that day, I just walked in the door, sat down in a booth, and wept. I was torturously lonely." I could picture the scene with exceptional clarity. After all, Liza was prone to over-the-top displays of raw emotion. "I was crying with such fervor, I mean, really, truly worked up. I suppose I attracted some attention. You see, before I could object, this young man had seated himself across from me and ordered me a coffee - black! Can you imagine?"

"The boy or black coffee?"

"Shush, Drusilla." She admonished, maternally. I scowled in return. "Anyways, while we were waiting he said, 'What's the matter, ma'am?'

"And you know what I said? Guess what I told him! Just guess! Well I told him 'It's not your funeral.'

"That's when he looked me straight in the eyes, and you know what that cheeky boy said? He said, 'It's just like a girl to cry in public and be offended when someone asks what's wrong.' Well, I didn't answer him - just stuck my nose right up in the air, all contemptuous-like.

"I told him, 'I don't even know you're name. Why should I tell you what's wrong?' He introduced himself to me as Kid Blink. And I asked what kind of name that was and he told me 'The best kind,' with abounding dignity, like that affirmed it. Well he eventually got me to tell him all about my tragedy-" She stopped when I flushed and looked horrified. Surely she had known better that to broadcast where I was! "I just told him you had run off to Europe, not why. Eventually his friends wandered over. Oh Duffy, they made me laugh all night. I was so elated to have these new friends all around me. Ah, newsies, they're a huckleberry above the permission most people give them. You hear about them being guttersnipes, but that's just not the case. They've got their own house. They all share it. It's absolutely darling. Can you imagine, Duffy? All of them together, a band of brothers? Just imagine! Anyways, I think I've taken it to far in that they've become dear friends."

"Elizaveta, your parents will be furious!"

"Drusilla, my parents will not find out." She said, indirectly swearing me into secrecy. "You absolutely must meet them all. You'd love them, I just know it!"

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**There you have it! Chapter three! Some indirect newsie involvement.**

**I'm very curious to hear what you all thought of Liza. I was trying to give her a strong and slightly outrageous personality, but I still want her to be likeable. The goal was a combination of my childhood best friend, Daisy Buchanan (The Great Gatsby), and Holly Golightly (Breakfast at Tiffany's). Overlooking the fact that you don't know my childhood best friend, did I come close to the goal at all? Lemme know, pretty please.**

**Reviews make me extraordinarily happy. :]**


	4. Just Leaving

I spent much of the following weeks around the apartment. My mother had put her foot down, decidedly announcing I would spend three weeks at home. I didn't protest again. After Liza's oath to introduce me to her newsies, I was uneager to hit the streets with her. From my cautious point of view, hanging around street kids was asking for trouble.

Despite this, Liza visited them, often sneaking away from parties and lessons to achieve this. It worried me that she went alone. Though she was nearly a year my senior, we both recognized that I was the more mature. She was naïve and trusting with everyone, and I was sure this did not exclude the newsboys.

After each visit, she would let herself into my apartment to recount her experiences. "Positively delightful! That's what they are, Duff. When are you coming with me?" She would gush, a grin plastered to her porcelain face.

"My mother-" I would start before she would cut in.

"Doesn't need to know! Come on, darling." She would coo. Yet I would refuse and she would frown. "What have they done to you?" She would say, mourning the loss of my mischievous side.

However, when those three weeks of confinement passed, they took my stand-by excuse with them.

Liza arrived the first afternoon that I was "freed."

"Come on!" She cried. "It's finally time!"

"I don't know…" I struggled for a new excuse.

"No. Come. Now."

"I have to ask my mother." I said, hoping she would come to my rescue.

Liza smiled, slyly. "I'll do it." Before I could react she had sought out my mother in her sitting room. "Auntie Marie, could I steal Duffy for the night?"

Under the impression we were going to spend the evening respectably, my mother did everything but shove me out the door.

* * *

"We're catching the trolley!" Liza cried excitedly, practically skipping through the streets. "Sure, it's no carriage pulled by a team of white horses, but it's absolutely darling. You'll adore it!"

I sulked during the ride, as Liza chatted incessantly. Suddenly, in the middle of a story about a boy named Racetrack, she stopped and began to cry.

Surprised, I took her hand and asked what was wrong.

"Oh, as if you even care a bit!" She wailed. "You don't even want to be here. Let's just get off and go home."

"Liza-" I started.

"No! Don't try to change my mind. If you aren't having any fun, I won't enjoy myself, so there's no point in going." She stood to get off, but I held her hand.

"Liza, no. I want to go," I lied, appeasing my weeping companion. "Truly."

"You do?" She cried, delightedly. "Oh, I'm so happy! I thought you didn't, but you don't. Oh, I don't know what I was thinking. I can see it in your face now. You **are **excited!"

I smiled weakly. These outbursts were common with Liza. If she doubted anything, she would throw a fit until she was reassured. However, even after seventeen years, I could not predict when these fits would strike.

* * *

We got off the trolley on a dingy street, called Duane. I frowned at the dirt that seemed to jump from the cobblestone to the hem of my day dress. Even at dusk, the city sweltered with heat. The people around us moved towards their home slowly, exhausted and drenched with sweat.

"Ready?" Eliza said joyously. She led the way towards a shabby building, labeled Newsboys Lodging House.

She entered without knocking, clearly feeling at home. The room was crowded with both boys and girls ranging from ages ten to eighteen, presumably.

"Liza, doll!" A boy with a worn leather eye-patch called out and approached us. "How ya been, kid?" Before she could answer he turned to me, "Ah! You gotta be Duffy!"

I nodded, "Yes, that's me." He took my hand in his, bringing it his lips. I resisted scowling. Taking my hand back a bit too quickly, I asked "And you are?"

"Kid Blink, ma'am. Pleased at meet ya."

"Like wise." I nodded again.

"May I introduce you ta some of the guys?" He asked, congenially.

Liza piped up, "She would love that!" He went around the room, naming the boys. I recognized nearly all of the names from Eliza's stories. After these introductions, Liza disappeared into the room.

I stood alone, and unsure of what to do with myself. I wanted to leave. Coming here had been a bad idea. Trusting Liza would make it home, I began to look for a door. The one we had entered through was blocked by a mass of people, so I moved towards the back of the house. Passing through an outdated and deserted kitchen, I found a back door. I exited on to tiny deck, four by twelve feet I guessed. The fresh air was wonderful compared to the stuffiness of the main room.

As I was taking a deep breath, I heard the door open and close behind me. "Oh." Said an annoyed voice. I turned around to see a tall brunette boy leaning against the wall and lighting a cigarette. I couldn't remember his name and wondered if he'd even been present during the introductions. "Didn't think anyone else would be out here."

"I was just leaving." I admitted.

"Good." He said gruffly.

"Pardon?"

He looked at me, unabashed. "I said 'good.'"

"I heard what you said but, why?"

"I can't stand it when rich goils hang around here."

I scoffed. "Me neither."

The little amount of his face illuminated by the glow of his cigarette showed he was glaring. "Then why are ya here?"

"Liza." I answered. I could see his angry face intensify. "You don't like her?" I inquired in response.

"No. Never spoke to her."

"Oh. Well, that's a shame." I said, thoughtfully.

"And why's that?" He challenged.

"Liza's great. It's too bad you decided you didn't like her before you ever exchanged a word."

"If she's so great, why are ya out here alone?"

Unable to produce an answer, I countered, "Why are you out here alone?"

"Don't like parties."

Again, I replied, "Me neither." Yet, I turned to go back inside. If the rest of these boys were like this one, I couldn't leave Liza alone with them.

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**Sorry about the comparatively slow update, kiddos. I've been doing everything from meeting Adam Pascal (that's what's up!) to puking my brains out (yuck-o!) to getting suckered in to helping run my school's man pageant (What? The most popular guys at your school don't voluntarily parade around a stage doing choreographed dances? Weird.). So there are my excuses. If you find them awesome, unacceptable or down-right queer, tell me about in the review I know you were planning on leaving. :]**

**Peace, love and straight teeth.**


	5. Not Too Friendly

Back inside the cramped house, I tried to forget how unwelcome I'd been made to feel by the boy from the porch. Making an effort to distract myself, I actually engaged in conversation with the newsies. It wasn't long before I had to admit that Eliza had been right about these boys - they were a "huckleberry above the permission" they were given.

Blink pulled me aside upon reentry. "Were you talkin' to Skittery out there?"

"Is that his name?" I asked.

"Yeah. Listen, he's not too friendly. It'd be in ya best interest to stay away from 'im. He ain't a bad guy, he just forgets his manners." I nodded and allowed Blink to lead me over to a cluster of people.

"So there I was, enjoying our stroll in the park, right? Dat was the thoid time I went out with this broad - don't forget that part," Retold a heavily accented boy named Racetrack who stood in the center of the group. "So, alls of a sudden, she's telling' me we're soul mates but her parents said we can't be togetha. That's when it got out a' control. She starts tellin' me we'll run away. It was odd, real odd."

His story was eliciting uproarious laughter from his audience. Liza begged to know what he'd said in return.

"Calm down, woman! I'm gettin' to it, I'm gettin' to it!" She assumed a pout, but still listened diligently. "Like I was sayin', she was declaring love. Well, no worries - I slyly changed the subject to rocks." He concluded triumphantly, seemingly proud of his hold on the situation.

We all laughed and questioned, "Rocks? Really?"

As a debate over rocks being an acceptable conversational topic change ensued, I drifted from that group. It was then I saw the boy from the porch, Skittery, having a heated conversation with a sour looking girl.

"So ya lied, again? How am I supposed to trust you?" His tone was ice and he ran his hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "Tell me, Nellie how often?" She glared silently. "How often?" He demanded, anger and desperation blended. I knew I shouldn't have stared, but I guess it's true what they say about train wrecks. You just can't look away.

Her words dripping with defiance, she monotonously said, "Enough that I'm good at it." She stormed out of the room, slamming the front door behind her as she left.

His face turned scarlet and his fists balled. After looking about the room uncertainly, he retreated from the party and ascended a flight of stairs. Against my better judgment, I followed several moments later. I knew I had best to leave the brooding newsie alone. After all, he'd made his opinion of me very clear. Still, I felt compelled in truly Eliza-esque fashion, acted upon a whim.

Upon reaching the top of the stairs, I could hear nothing. I had expected him to be punching a wall, or yelling, or something, but it was silent. The courage or foolishness that had gotten me that far was diminishing quickly. I was longing to turn around, but a bout of my neurotic, inexplicable anxiety hit and suddenly I couldn't return to the party. So I stood, suspended in the hallway. Before me were three doors, presumably leading to a bedroom, an attic, and a bathroom. Needing to regain my composure, I decided upon a destination - the bathroom.

Now came the issue of deciding which door to go through. I certainly didn't want to end up in the room with Skittery and his rage, but had no way of telling which door he waited behind. Unwilling to over-think the choice, I grabbed a knob and open a door, softly. It creaked anyways.

_Damn._

There sat the newsie on a bunk, head in his hands. He looked up and met my widened eyes.

"Whaddaya want?" He asked bitterly.

Feeling heat rise in my cheeks, I answered, "A ba-bathroom. I was looking for the bathroom."

"This ain't it." He turned to face the wall.

"Sorry," I replied and made my hasty exit. I neglected to close the door and hurried into another room, this time the bathroom. I went to a trough-like sink, leaning against it. I tried to calm myself, breathing deeply. I had nearly relaxed when I saw _it _curled in a corner_._

Frozen, I stared. It moved slightly, returning my gaze. I dashed away to stand on top of a toilet, trembling with fear and panting. It scurried frantically as I moved. It's sudden movement caused me to emit an involuntary scream from behind the hand I'd clasped over my mouth.

That caught the boy's attention, who hurried into the room. "What?" He asked, looking for the source of my obvious terror. "What's a matter?" He asked, much more gently than before.

I pointed my trembling finger to the corner. His eyes fell upon the gray rat and then looked back at me, annoyed and incredulous.

"A rat?" He asked, rolling his eyes. "Just like a rich goil. Come on, get down."

Unable to speak, I vigorously nodded my objection.

Confusion - and was it compassion? - grew in his expression. "It ain't gonna hurt you. You're fine." He attempted to soothe. "Come down, it's alright."

I looked at him, still shaking and barely able to articulate. "I-I, I just… I can't."

"You can't stay there all night."

I tried to force my muscles to move me to the floor, embarrassed. My left foot touched the ground before I saw the rat again and pulled it back up. "I can't."

He was realizing that something beyond a rich girl's disgust was going on in my head. "I'll help you. It's okay."

He approached me, slowly and proffered a helping hand.

I nodded my head again. "I'm scared." I admitted, dumbly. " I can't walk on the floor with it in here."

"I'll go kill it, alright?"

"No!" I answered quickly. The sight of it's blood and it's pained squeals were even worse. "No, please no."

"Well, what am I supposed to do? I wanna help ya, but you aren't makin' it easy. What do ya want me ta do?" He patience was wearing thin and his frustration was only making my panic worse.

"I don't know." I whimpered, pathetically.

Sympathy returned to his face. "I can carry ya out. How about that?"

"I… Alright." With my consent, he lifted and carried me, bridal style, from the room.

He put me down as soon as we were back in the hall and shut the door behind him. I began to act normal again, fixing my hair and clothing and wiping the stress-induced sweat from my forehead.

"What was that about?" He asked.

"It's just, it's just..." I sighed, not wanting to explain. "I'm sorry you saw that and thank you for your help. Good night."

With that, I hurried downstairs before he could reply. Dragging a disgruntled Liza, (with cries of "I don't want to leave, Mush was just about to teach me how to smoke a cigar! Duffy, it's only two! Why are we leaving?") I headed home.

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**So I hope that gave you a little more insight into Duffy's state of mind without being to damsel in distress-y. I want her to be helpless but not pathetic, if that's possible.**

**Thank you to those who reviewed last chapter. **

**Thanks for reading and please don't forget to leave me some love/hate/e-waffles/whatever you want for this chapter. Y'all are the best!**


	6. The Best Policy

**Hello darlings. Slowish update - I'm sorry. Life's been beating the shit out of me, repeatedly and routinely. However, I'm done with PSSAs, SATs, and APs. That should free up some of my writing time.**

**Please review. I could use some support. :] (I may not be a classic "review whore," but I'll damned if I'm not a little bit slutty.)**

**Much love, friends.**

**OSPD**

* * *

When Liza and I arrived at her apartment, I went directly to bed. I fell asleep that night, wondering. This Skittery was fascinating. His brooding discontent and Blink's warning; they didn't match with the glimpses of a kindness (however brief) I'd seen grace his face. And who was that girl? What had she lied about? Why did it matter to him?

More importantly, why did it matter to me?

* * *

The next morning, Eliza insisted we take an early morning walk. I didn't object. I was, as always, eager to leave the Bedeau's home with all of it's touch-me-not décor. I had never been comfortable there, despite the immense expanses of time I'd passed in the flat. Everything was too dainty, too breakable. I was not particularly clumsy, yet I still felt like a bull in a china shop.

"Go home and get dressed. You'll need a parasol." She ordered. "We're going for a walk, and it's as bright as… a very bright thing."

"Lost your touch with words?" I questioned.

"Never." She declared, shooing me back to my own apartment to freshen up.

I hastily changed from my nightgown and robe into a lavender skirt and white whale-boned jacket. I was about to walk out the door when my mother intercepted me.

"You look angelic, Drusilla! Oh! I just bought the most darling hair piece to match that. You must borrow it." She whisked me off to her room, and after inserting a combination of purple satin flowers, pearl beads and soft feathers above my right ear, she threw the rest of my hair into a French twist. "Perfect." She cooed.

"Eliza wants to go to the park. Should I be home for lunch?" I asked, after thanking her.

"No, no, no. Have fun!" She slipped two crisp bills into my palm and told me to treat Liza to lunch.

I kissed her cheek and let myself out of the apartment. Eliza, in the most vibrant shades of red and pink, waited me. I almost laughed at her parasol. It was a vibrant pink with a flamingo's figure as a handle. My white lace one looked shabby in comparison.

* * *

We walked through Central Park, arm in arm. "How was your night?" She asked.

"The boys are wonderful. You were right."

"Of course, I was right. I'm very rarely mistaken."

"You're too humble."

"Yes, that too." She said with a tone of seriousness. Her smile was the only betrayal of her jest.

"Let's visit your tig-" She started, but abruptly stopped. "Blink!" She cried.

I followed her head to find Blink approaching us, beaming. "Good day, Mademoiselle Bedeau, Miss-" He stopped, waiting for me to fill in my surname.

"Diamantopoulos."

His eyebrows rose, "I think I'll stick to Duffy."

"Understandably. You should hear her full name!" Eliza laughed, and dropped my arm for Blink's. At first I thought it must look odd to on-lookers, this finely dressed French girl so close to a newsie with a dirtied shirt and eye-patch. Then I smiled, realizing that they had all seen stranger things. This, after all, was New York City.

Before Blink could ask for my full name, we were joined by another newsie.

"'Ey, Blink." Skittery said, before casting a glance towards either me or Liza. When his eyes did fall upon us, I flushed and looked at my feet. "Ladies." He greeted.

"Hello, Skittery." Liza said, the epitome of friendliness.

"Would you ladies like to come to lunch with us?" Blink asked, smiling.

Eliza and I answered simultaneously.

"Of course!"

"No, but thank you."

"Won't you come?" Liza pleaded, surprised that I had declined.

"No, but you have fun." I grinned, assuring her that it was alright to go without me.

Blink tilted his head. "Well, if you're sure, we're gonna go."

"You do that. It was nice seeing you, again."

"I ain't real hungry." Skittery announced to the group. Saying their goodbyes, Liza and Blink left. I started off towards the park's menagerie. "Mind if I walk with you?" He unexpectedly asked, falling into step with me.

"What?" I said, truly shocked.

"Could I walk with you? I sold all of my papes, so I don't got nowhere to be." He said, seeming almost sheepish.

"Oh. Well, yeah. Yes." I stumbled.

"Why didn't you go to Tibby's with ya friend?"

I thought about it and asked, "Honestly?"

"I've heard it's the best policy, so yeah. Let's go with dat."

I sighed. "I was avoiding you."

"I seem to have that affect on people." He said, surprising my yet again, this time with a laugh. Reverting back to seriousness, he apologized, "Listen, I am sorry about last night, though. I was kind of an ass."

Examining his features, I felt incredulous. What had changed?

"It's fine." I said, intrigued and insincere. "You sort of redeemed yourself towards the end."

He snorted, and changed the subject. "Where are we going?"

I cast him a sideways glance. "You won't like it."

"Well, I thought we were bein' honest."

"You have yet to divulge anything. This is absolutely one-sided honesty."

"Well, what would you like to know?"


	7. Flower Names

I looked at the newsboy thoughtfully, my head drifting to the side. "Lots of things," I answered.

"That ain't too specific. Where do you wanna start?"

"With the basics. How old are you?"

His focus fell upon the path beneath us in shame that I didn't understand. "Eighteen."

I tried to make eye contact with him, but he wouldn't look up. "Why are you embarrassed?" I questioned quietly.

"'Cause I'm gettin' too damn old for this."

"This?"

"Bein' a newsie. I need ta do somethin' else, but I can't figure out what." He kicked a rock, frustrated.

I hadn't expected Skittery to really be honest, and now that he'd opened up, I didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry." This was followed by a pregnant, uncomfortable pause.

He grinned, feebly. It appeared that his facial muscles were unfamiliar with that particular arrangement, but maybe that was just my imagination. "It's my turn. Y'know, to ask something."

I let out a nervous laugh, and nodded. "Nothing too heavy, alright?"

"I wouldn't dream of it. How about yer name?"

My eyebrows scrunched. "What?"

"Yer name. I don't know it."

"That seems odd. Duffy, though."

"Yer full name, if you please."

This time, I was the one to look embarrassed. "Drusilla. Please don't laugh," I spit out hurriedly. Nonetheless, he flashed a mocking smile my way. "Don't laugh!" I burst out, more emphatically.

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry. But really, what were your parents thinkin'?"

I shrugged. "I wish they'd given me a pretty name."

"Like what?"

"Maybe a flower name, like Daisy or Lilly. Anything's better than Drusilla, but even Duffy's not that much better."

"I like Duffy," he said, trying to comfort me.

I giggled. "No, you don't. If you do, you've got horrible taste in names. Oh! We're here!"

"Here?" He looked up and I watched as his eyes roved over the ornate lettering on the side. "Central Park Menagerie," he read aloud. "Why?"

"This is where my …pets live."

"Pets? Why would you keep them here?"

I sighed and said, "This is the part where you get annoyed with me for being spoiled."

With a roll of his eyes, Skittery reiterated his question.

"Well, they don't allow tigers in my apartment building." I shrugged, and a juvenile smirk formed on my lips as I watched Skittery's jaw drop.

"Tigers? What? How? …What?"

"When I was seven, my parents went on a trip to Africa. They sent me pictures of the animals they saw, and my favorite was of a tiger. I was obsessed." I recalled the memory fondly. It was a simpler time in every way. "So for my eighth birthday, I begged and begged for a pet tiger. For obvious reasons, I couldn't really have one. But my father, he's," I searched for the right word. "…Indulgent, and he just hates to disappoint me. So, one way or another, he got in touch with all the right people and donated the money for a tiger cage and two tigers to the park in my name."

"So, they ain't really yer pets? Like ya don't play with them, right?" He seemed afraid.

"Oh, heavens no! They're far too wild, even in their cage. It makes me sad now, to see them so confined." As the larger cat stalked from one end of the enclosure to the other, I admired her striped fur stretching over her muscular form. How discontent she seemed, trapped behind bars. I knew what it was like to be caged, to be considered dangerous.

We continued walking towards them. "What'd you name them?"

The question readjusted my focus, and I beamed. "Daisy and Lilly." He looked skeptically at me, but I paid him little attention. We'd reached the cage, which I concertedly approached.

It was Lilly, the smaller of my big cats that saw me first. With no sense of recognition, she laid her head back on her paws. I wondered what it would be like to stick my hands through the cage and gather her stunning fur in my hands.

As I stared at Lilly, Daisy shuffled lackadaisically towards us. Always the less excitable of the two, she simply laid down against the bars closest to me and her sister. "Hey, Daisy. Oh, I can tell you're glad to see me, but really, settle down."

"I don't think she understands sarcasm." I heard Skittery call from several yards behind me.

I gave him an indignant look, but still gestured for him to come close. "Come on! Come see them."

"Nah, I'm good right here."

"Oh, you're scared, aren't you?" I mocked.

Suddenly defensive, he marched forward several feet. "I ain't scared a' nothin'!" Still, he maintained some of his distance. "They just look incredibly content as they are. As a rule, I try to avoid disruptin' animals that can eat people."

I shook my head in resignation. "We can go."

"You sure you don't want to stay with them longer? I can go if you wanna stay."

"No, no. They're indifferent towards me, anyways. Let's go."

"Where?"

"I don't know yet."


	8. Ugly

As our conversation dried up, I longed to be back with Eliza. She never ran out of things to say, quite unlike myself. The quiet was horrendous, and left me unsure of each movement I made. I wanted desperately to quicken my pace, to end the discomfort, yet I did not want to give Skittery the impression that I wanted to be away from him. However, I would have been within my rights to openly detest him. After all, had he not done just the same to me the previous night?

Lost in my contemplation, I was jolted back to reality when he began to speak again. "Can I ask you a another question?" His timid tone warned me that he was about to inquire about the one thing I did not want to discuss.

"I suppose." I answered, surprised by the ice in my own voice.

His reddening face revealed my tone had effectually instilled some regret for asking at all. Still, he carried on. "Why were you so afraid of that rat? I've seen lotsa people be afraid of rats, but you seemed really terrified."

"It was ugly." I stated defensively. We both knew that my fear was far deeper than that, but I'd be damned if I explained it to a stranger.

"Duffy..." He started. I couldn't discern whether this was a plea for forgiveness or explanation. Regardless, it enraged me.

"Drusilla. To you, my name is Drusilla. I don't know you, nor do I care to." I stormed away and felt angry tears prick and form in my eyes. I didn't turn around to see what he was doing. I didn't want him to follow me. I didn't want him to know anything about me. Who was he to pry? It was my life, my secret. I didn't have to share; I'd shared enough with cold strangers in Vienna.

I walked quickly and deliberately home. The doorman smiled and his friendliness disturbed me more. Why wouldn't everyone just leave me alone? I didn't want new friends, I didn't want pity. I just wanted to be alone, to linger forever in silence and solitude, away from watchful, critical, knowing eyes. Every passerby's glance saw straight through my past, revealing the screaming and the blood. They all knew how I had fainted one night and woken up with pain in unfamiliar places.

I stumbled through my door, short of breath and panicked. Darting to my room, I thought I had gone unseen within the apartment. I collapsed on the bed, heaving and coughing. My throat seemed to close and I couldn't properly breathe.

Just as I began to realize I was dying, my mother and a maid came bursting in. My mother laid me down on the bed holding my shoulders down, as the frightened, young maid put a cold towel on my face.

"I'm dying. I'm going to die." I gasped.

"No, darling. Shh, it's alright, Duffy. Nothing is going to hurt you. You're not going to die. Shh." She said, soothingly as she stroked my face. I rolled over, threw up and fainted.

* * *

The butler must have moved me to the guest room, for that was where I was when I woke up. The walls were dark green with leafy patterns. The room itself was cavelike and the air within it seemed too heavy. My mother sat beside the bed, holding my hand.

"Mama?" I whimpered. What had happened? They had let me come home because I wasn't supposed to do this anymore.

"Oh, sweetheart." She smiled at me, but I could see the sadness in the creases of her face. I wondered how many of those wrinkles were a result of the last year, of me.

"Please, don't send me back."

Her soft hand caressed my face, as it so often did. I could feel the cool metal of her wedding ring on my cheek. I would have like a wedding ring, but who could marry someone like me? I thought I had been cured, that maybe now everyone would forget and perhaps a quiet boy with soft eyes and an understanding smile could love me. But, I was still crazy, unacceptable, and doomed to a life alone. What self-respecting family would allow impure, insane me to bear its name? How silly I was to hope for a new beginning.

* * *

I drifted in and out of sleep for the remainder of the day. I woke once to find my mother writing a letter on the bedside table while my father stood defeatedly behind her with a hand on her shoulder. The page was far from my sleep-clouded eyes and tear-stained. The only words I could distinguish were "Dr. E. Jones," "panic attack," and "help."


	9. Futures

Despite her pleas in notes sent from her penthouse suite to my apartment in the days following, Liza could not convince me to go back to Duane Street and the Newsboys' Lodging House. In fact, I barely left the flat, aside from my urgent attempts to intercept the mail – namely a letter from Dr. Jones. Each day around noon I would sprint down the stairs to the front desk and ask for the mail. Typically, mail retrieval was Lloyd's responsibility, but I suspected he didn't mind me taking care of it, and the rest of the household was just glad to see me out of my room for the brief few minutes it took to catch the elevator back and forth. For painstakingly long days, I saw nothing from Vienna. I tried to convince myself that no word was good news, but the looming possibility of being sent back to Europe still lingered with each letter-less day.

It was two Mondays after my panic attack that word finally came. I recognized the looping handwriting of my former psychologist on the envelope addressed to my parents. I stared intently at the envelope, all to aware that its content bared my fate. Thanking the man behind the desk, I turned on heel to return to the flat, only to find myself face-to-face with a very indignant Eliza Bedeau.

"Drusilla!" She practically screeched. "Why are you ignoring me? You don't answer the notes I send you, you never visit, and when I go to your apartment, you're always 'indisposed.' What have I done wrong? What did I do to deserve this treatment from you? Why? Why me?" She dissolved into a whimpering mess, begging to know why repeatedly, and I sensed something far worse than my neglect was the source of her question. Pocketing the letter, I wrapped my arm around her, guiding her back to the stairs. Far less ornate and far more private, they served my purpose of avoiding the elevator and the attendant's judgment. I sat her down on the nearest cement landing. A wail, unlike any human noise I'd ever heard escaped from my friend's mouth, and wracking sobs continued to emanate as I took a seat on the grungy floor behind her.

"Liza, Liza, what's happened. What's wrong? Darling, please, what's wrong?"

She shook her head violently, as if to indicate that she couldn't form the words. Instead she lifted her tiny left hand. Her ring finger bore it's namesake, a stunning diamond, larger than any I had ever seen on ornately twisted gold band. Gingerly, taking her hand in my own, I shifted it, looking at the massive ring from different angle, as if it would reveal itself to be a joke, far from what it looked like. I gaped at her as she fell into my arms. That quickly, in that instant, our childhood together ended.

"Who?" I begged. "Who?"

"Archibald Livingston." She squeaked out the unfamiliar name. I sorted through all the young men who frequented the same social events that we did. None by that name came to mind. Who? Who was this surprise fiance? How had I never heard about him before this? Granted that I had been gone eight months, I supposed a lot could happen in that time, but how had she not mentioned such a serious suitor?

"Duffy, he's so old." She choked out. She repeated herself, yet this time with a bit of a chuckle, and then a third "He's so dreadfully old," was accompanied by a full burst of laughter. The echo of her misery lingered in her lovely blue eyes even as the crying subsided. "Forty seven to be exact. He's only three years younger than father." I realized now why I didn't recognize the name. He was hardly the someone near our age I had been expecting. She continued laughing. "How horrible it seems. He is a dear though, truly he is. A southern gentleman through and through. Oh, but I don't want to go at all, Duffy. What shall I do? South Carolina is awfully far, terribly far, absolutely too far from you. I'll have to live on a farm, a farm! He's shown me photographs, it's a right mansion, alright. A big farm – what do they call them down there? Plantations? Yes, that's it. A plantation. I suppose his family played their cards right and the farm survived the war. He was alive for the war. Born a citizen of the Confederacy. That's how dreadfully old he is. He's just a confederate farm boy, come to New York for the summer to steal himself a yankee wife. I'm going to South Carolina, Duffy, a farm in South Carolina. No more city nights, no more trolleys, no more newsies."

I was speechless long after her tangent, long after we had retreated to the solace of my sitting room. Sipping tea we both sat quietly contemplating our futures, seemingly dismal now that separation was a true impending doom. The letter that had previously burned a hole in my pocket now seemed inconsequential. Whether I was here or there, I would still be friendless.

After a time, Liza looked at me over the edge of her pink china teacup, with an inquisitive look. "Duffy. You'll be my maid-of-honor, of course, won't you?" I hesitated but a second to long, launching her into hysterics. "Oh, don't look at me as if you don't know. You must, you must. I can't do it without you. How can you sit here staring at me without an answer? Duffy, you must! I can't do it without you, I just can't."

"Liza, I don't know if I'll be here." I said, apologetically, my thoughts returning to the letter. I stared at my feet, feeling more wretched than before.

I didn't need to adjust my gaze from the mosaic tile floor to meet Liza's to know she was glaring daggers at me. "Well, we have yet to choose a date, so it seems that you are being a little premature in your negative RSVP." She was practically screeching again. She slammed the teacup down with such fervor that it shattered. Unapologetically, she stood from the overly fluffy chaise lounge and began to stomp towards the door.

"Liza!" I called, stunned. "Stop it. Just, stop!" I said, my anger rising. "Do you think I have a choice? After my last panic attack, what did you expect to happen? For everyone to just laugh and say 'Oh, that crazy Duffy. Whatever will we do with her?' No! Liza, it's not like that." I whipped out the letter. "Do you see this? Turn around and look at me Liza, turn around!" She obeyed, her tearful eyes meeting the envelope I held in shaking hands. "They'll send me back there Liza, and this time, I don't expect that they'll let me come home. So maybe you have to go to South Carolina, and maybe it's not the fairytale you dreamed of, but I'm sure it's better than an asylum in the middle of Austria." My blood was boiling, as if an eruption of jealousy had occurred in my chest, pumping envy through my every cell. "At least someone will love you, and when he says he'll take care of you, it means he'll buy you pretty things, take you lovely places. You know what they will do to take care of me if I go back? They'll shove so many pills down my throat I can't feel a damn thing, and hook me up to machines and send electricity through my brain until the nightmares stop. And if that doesn't work, they'll start taking chunks out of my brain until I can't remember what happened last summer, or anything else for that matter" As my fears poured from my mouth, tears spilled from my eyes down my cheeks, flushed with fury. "So, you'll have to excuse me for not being able to promise to be your bridesmaid." I concluded coldly.

Liza stared at me in tearful disbelief. Her chest went up and down as she cried, but her mouth stared immobile and agape. After a long moment of unbroken eye-contact, she turned and fled from my apartment, as if I was a monster. Suddenly feeling that she wasn't wrong in thinking so, sinking back into my seat. I stared aimlessly for a period of time, wondering what happened now that everything had spiraled out of control. Remembering the letter in my hand, I lifted it back into my direct line of vision and began to rip the envelope.


	10. Fallen Angel

**Well, darlings, as you can see from this and the previous chapters, I've picked this story back up again. I can't tell you why, because I don't have a solid reason. Perhaps it's just because I don't want to study from my finals? Who knows. Anyways, I know in the year-ish that it's been, I probably lost all my readers, but hey, you're reading this so it means you've found my story. I really appreciate reviews. (Like really, really appreciate them... Oh, please, don't make me beg because you know I will.) **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

My fingers trembled uncontrollably as I read the letter, my eyes roving the page at a pace I thought them incapable of. Upon my first and second readings, I drew very little from the text, to agitated to properly absorb the words. Making a concerted effort the third

_Mr. and Mrs. Diamantopulous,_

_Recurrence of panic attacks, while certainly alarming, is no indication of ineffectual treatment, especially in a case of Hysteria like your daughter's. I firmly belief Drusilla to be rehabilitated, and well on her way to being a well balanced, sane functioning member of society. It is important to remember that she has been taken from the safety and comfort of the institution and thrust back into the real world. Road bumps of are bound to accompany such a massive adjustment. In short, to answer your question, sending your daughter back to Vienna is not only unnecessary, but potentially dangerous to her proper re-assimilation into her former life. Your patience is of the essence and utmost importance during this delicate time in Drusilla's treatment._

_However, for the sake of her safety, as well as those around her, I must insist you keep me updated should the outbursts continue. I shall be spending the winter in New York this year, and in the case of continued panic attacks, would be more than happy to continue her treatment in a less aggressive fashion away from the institutional style we used this year. I feel it best to continue with the psychoanalytic procedures implemented during her time here at the institution in a more casual, weekly setting, while eliminating her electric shock therapy._

_Best Wishes,_

_Dr. E. Jones_

I felt numb, letting the paper slide from my fingers onto the floor. With the lifting of one worry, another filled its stead. Rather than my future treatment, I now had the perhaps more delicate issue of a hurt and infuriated Liza. No rest for the weary.

Knowing that with Liza the fight would not end without a heaping serving of bitter emotion, I felt depleted at the thought of it. Unable to cope with the current situation, I felt myself withdrawing. I passed the next several hours, wandering the flat aimlessly. I picked up seven books, read the first paragraph and tossed them aside. I tried to pick up an incomplete embroidery, promptly tangled the threads hopelessly, and discarded the piece as carelessly as the books. I sat at the piano, and pattered out a few notes the unmelodiously resounded with the affects of a year without practice before abandoning that too. Wandering into the kitchen, I took bites out of the dinner a cook I didn't recognize was preparing until she shooed me out. I tossed myself onto the sofa in the formal living room, as a pang of guilt hit me while watching a maid pick up the clutter I'd left in my neurotic wake. Still my predominant emotion was a desperation to find any activity that would take away from the persistent thought of Liza's tear-filled eyes as she left and the image of her several floors above me, sobbing in her bed as I suspected she was doing.

Having run out of past-times, I stood, resigned and left the apartment. Waiting for the elevator, I began to prepare an apology for Liza and my acceptance of her apology. The words weren't forming as I would have hoped, but as I stepped into the elevator and felt it rising, I knew I was running out of time. It was seemed I would have to give a candid apology, rather than appeasing Liza's dramatic side. Yet, when I reached the door of her apartment, I was told by her mother than Liza had left just moments before, claiming to be visiting friends. "I suspected she'd be going to your apartment. She certainly doesn't have many other friends." She said, both meanly and matter-of-factly. My blood always boiled when Mrs. Bedeau was so unkind towards Liza. Her daughter's vivacious personality and consequential unpopularity were her greatest disappointments.

Holding my tongue but sure my eyes spoke of my anger for me well enough, I departed. I knew exactly where she had gone.

* * *

I caught a trolley heading for Duane Street easily as dusk was falling quickly. They came often, and I hoped I was only one train behind Liza. Catching a glimpse at shockingly blonde curls after getting off my own curly, I saw my hopes had not been in vain. Trailing behind her, she approached the Newsboys' Lodging House. She crossed the final street just moments before I caught up to her. A surge of traffic came down the street before I could cross, separating me from her. After the series of wagons and carts had passed, she was already inside.

The light was falling rapidly around me, but through the bay window I could see her dimly lit silhouette and that of a teenage boy. I squinted, recognizing the boy to be Kid Blink. Instantly I understood why she had come. She had to break his heart. As she approached, his arms spread to embrace her. They enveloped her briefly, but his demeanor instantaneously changed when she put her hands on his chest rather than wrapping around his lithe frame. He looked down at her, smiling with waning hope. Taking her face in his hand, he bent down, as if to kiss her. Yet, she pushed away, shaking her pretty curls sadly. He looked confused, until she lifted her small hand to show the diamond adorning her finger. A beat of what I could only guess to be disbelieve passed between them before he swiftly turned his back on her. His hand massaged his forehead angrily as she dissolved into tears, reaching her hand out to touch his back. She hesitated, but after a moment, she did make contact. His only reaction was to jerk his head up, still looking at the wall opposite of Liza. He mouthed a singular syllable, presumably "Go," and with that she tore from the building. She barreled across the street, looking up to see me through watery eyes.

"Duffy," she croaked before falling into me and weeping. I held her, supporting the bulk of her weight. She shook violently. "He knew it would happen, he knew. I told him from the beginning. I told him, he knew." She repeated herself over and over, as if it would fix the situation, as if all of the pain would stop if she just made me understand.

I promised her he would understand someday quietly and pet her hair. She sunk to the ground, and I followed. Sitting on the curb, she looked at the Newsboy's Lodging House is with same pathetic eyes as a puppy forced outside. The world was quieting, as were her sobs, though the tears still streamed freely down her face. As the lights in the windows of the lodging house snapped off, an exhausted Liza leaned her head on my shoulder, having worn herself out with unbridled grief. "I love him, Duffy. I really do."

"Let's go home." I said softly, as yet another trolley rolled past. She shook her head to protest, and I abided by her desire to stay. She began to talk, spilling her every thought. "Duffy, I shouldn't have gotten close to him, but I can't even regret it. He made me so happy. He's the happiest person I know. I doubt that he was ever mad about losing his eye." She chuckled sadly. "He showed me how to be happy when I thought I'd never smile again, when you left. I was so worried and beside myself, sick because I'd never helped you. He saved me. I wish you could have known him after what happened last summer, Duff. He would have saved you, too. I don't think he can help himself from helping others." As she spoke, I realized how in love with him she was. She could have gone on forever about this one trait, to infinity about him. I never believed love like that existed. "And here I am. The girl who broke his heart, the girl who ruined him. I knew this would happen, but didn't stop it. I've never felt so wretched." She looked up at me. "I thought I'd lost you today too. I'm so glad you came. I'm going to stop being so selfish. I'm coming to start being kinder. When I get to South Carolina, I've got a second chance. That's why I said yes more than anything. Of course, my parents would have thrown me out had I said no, but still, I said yes because I can be better there."

I looked at my friend, in all her romantic wreckage. Broken like I'd never seen her before, she was still a vision. A fallen angel in the grunge of a Manhattan slum. "I always thought you were just perfect here."

Another trolley approached and I helped her get on. Looking out the window, back at the house, I saw something I certainly hadn't expected. The girl, the one who had infuriated Skittery the night I met him, stealthily was leaving the lodging house. As the driver argued over fare with a man at the front, I watched her put on the shoes she had carried, probably to avoid making noise within the house, and take off running in a scandalously tight dress. A beat after she was invisible in the darkness of an alley, Skittery stammered clumsily and desperately into the street. Running his hand through his hair in frustration, he looked around. "Natalie?" He yelled. "Nat, come back!" He sunk on to the stairs of the front stoop looking defeated as we pulled away.

* * *

**There you have, darlings. What'd you think? Should I give up and go drown in a bucket of Jell-O or did you think it was decent? Review, you jackasses.**


	11. That Girl

**Well, last chapter got a whooping zero reviews... so I'm not entirely sure why I'm trying this, as I can assume it's not being read. ****Whatever, I don't mind writing for my own amusement.**

* * *

"Who is she?" I asked. I'd deposited an exhausted Eliza at her apartment and promptly caught another trolley back to Duane Street. I was obsessed. Who was that girl and why did he care so much about her? What was she doing that upset him so? Now, I stood before Skittery in the summer night's heat, a stale wind tossing at the gauzy skirt of my pale pink dress. His head was in his hands as I approached, and it wasn't until I asked the blunt question that he looked up and saw me.

A look of distaste marred his face. "What?" He asked in a demanding snarl. His anger made itself obvious as the muscles of his arms tensed, his teeth gritted and his eyes hardened. Not so unlike the night in the lodging house, I regretted that I had acted on my curiosity and sought out this stranger. Something self-destructive in me couldn't leave him be.

"The girl. Nellie." I choked out, suddenly trembling beneath the weight of his intensity in the air.

"Her name's Natalie to you. You don't know her, and you never will. Don't you _ever _call her Nellie." The words came out so similar to a growl they were barely discernable. Something in his eyes had become inhuman as well; a bestial anger was taking hold of him. He remained on the stoop and I felt paralyzed, sure if I moved the animal before me would follow the instinct to chase me, prey in an unfamiliar territory. The atmosphere was tense, the street deserted. I didn't doubt for a second that he could hear the pounding emanating from my chest as tears started to prick my eyes.

Sensing the impending tears, something in him snapped. "What? Are you gonna cry? Why?" He demanded, rising menacingly to his feet. "What do you have to cry about? 'Cause I ain't your friend? Is that what this is about?" He came closer. "You seen what your little friend did to Blink, then you got the nerve to come back here? To show your face around here? You think just 'cause everyone's always told you what a pretty face you got, you think that we all wanna see it?" He was inching closer to me, and I still couldn't move, too terrified by the familiarity of the situation. I knew I should run, that I had to run, but I didn't know where to go or how to get home. There will people lurking around this neighborhood far more dangerous than the infuriated boy before me, and the thought of them kept me rooted. Skittery was looming over me now, a head taller but only inches away.

"Or are you just fascinated with us? Never had nothing bad happen to you up on Fifth Avenue. Is the tragedy just something nice to look at? Sick of your tigers, need something new to look at, but never touch, never get your hands dirty with? Guess what." He leaned down in my face and spread his arms out, gesturing to the whole street, the grunge that surrounded us, the persistent noises echoing out of the alleys, the overwhelming atmosphere of poverty. "This ain't some exhibit in Central Park. This is my life." I trembled violently now as he moved away and said, "Go home, Drusilla." He spit my name out with the disgust I'd heard only once before from one other boy.

"I was afraid of that rat because last summer, I woke up one morning in a basement, not knowing where I was with a dozen rats on the floor with me." I'll never know why I said it, but it came out of my mouth before I could stop myself. I backed away, still facing Skittery as confusion played across his features. As I stumbled backwards, my nerve followed suit and I turned and ran.

Between the panic, wrong turns and the running itself, getting back home drained me. I stumbled clumsily into my bed once I'd reached the flat, and without taking off my boots or wiping the smeared makeup from face fell into a fitful sleep. Rats terrorized my dreams, biting at my legs and crawling up my body while Skittery laughed wickedly and Liza demanded I chose between two veils she was presenting, frustrated that I wasn't answering.

In fact, I woke up to find I had indeed agitated Liza. A series of notes lay on my bedside table when I painstakingly sat up. Drowsiness gripped me, and the thought of lying in bed all day was delightfully inviting. I basked in the idea of lounging, of having all my meals brought to me, snug under the imported silk sheets with a classic novel to keep me company. Most indulgent of all, if I were to stay in bed all day, I wouldn't have to go outside and run the risk of a run in with a very angry newsboy. A true New Yorker knows better than to believe in coincidence – the enormous city moves too quickly for more than one chance meeting per decade, but even so, I didn't trust my own luck.

Yet Liza's notes made themselves known as Lloyd deposited yet another folded card into the pile. When he exited the room, I reached over and grabbed a note at random. I felt assured that all the cards had similar points, but being increasingly impatient. The handwriting one I had selected suggested it was among the later notes, as the ink was thick and the letters hastily written, the lines barely connecting. It read: _Wedding dress shopping. Come upstairs. __**Now, Duffy.**_

I sighed, forgoing my plans to stay in bed. I should have known that Liza wouldn't be able to wait for a dress. For her debutante, we had taken a train to Philadelphia to search for her dress, then the Chicago. When these cities failed to impress, and we had scoured every street of every borough, she spent days pouring over Parisian catalogues and ordered one. It arrived just days before her ball, and she hated it. Four seamstresses and an expert at dying fabric were rushed in and created a miracle. It was the most gorgeous, labor-intensive dress Manhattan had ever seen. There was no hope – her wedding dress would be an even more dramatic debacle.

Paying little attention to my own appearance, assured no one would be looking at me, I hastily got ready. I caught the elevator to the penthouse floor, and as I had done a thousand times before, let myself into the apartment. I heard muffled voices chattering indistinctly and followed them into the smaller of the Bedeau's dining rooms. Unseen by both Eliza and her mother, I lingered in the doorway.

"No. I won't allow it. She can't be in the wedding party, let alone your maid of honor." Mrs. Bedeau seethed at an indignant Liza. "She is a fallen woman. Her standing in polite society is shot to shambles, but I will be damned if she brings you down too. I know she is your friend, but she's a disgrace. What would people say, Elizaveta? Hmm?" Liza gaped at her mother, still unaware of my eaves dropping. "Precisely. Your cousins will be your bridal party. Perhaps Louisa Hertz as well, if you must have a friend."

"That lump of a girl is not my friend, Mother! I want Duffy."

"Keep this behavior up, and that lunatic would be lucky to receive an invitation at all." Her mother replied resolutely. It was at this dreadful moment that they both looked up, horrendously in sync and saw me standing there. A long moment of silence engulfed the three of us. Curtly, Mrs. Bedeau eyed me up and down, clearly not pleased by what she saw. "It's rude to linger in doorways unannounced, Drusilla." She turned back in her chair, dismissing me with her cold body language.

I turned to leave, shakingly. Behind me, I heard Liza stand and slam her hands on the table. "You witch! You absolute witch!" She shrieked before she came to find me.


	12. Skittery and Natalie

**Yeah, yeah, I never update, I'm evil, you hate me, you hope I get stepped on, blah, blah, blah. Well, ha, take this! A big, shiny, new chapter for you. It's worth reading to the end. It gets like mildly juicy, and this shit ain't from concentrate. Enjoy and review, bebes! :)**

* * *

"Duffy! Duffy, stop, please, Duffy!" I heard Liza calling from behind me. Still, I kept up a quick pace, eager to be away from the Bedeaus, from our building, from Fifth Avenue. My pulse was quickening as I continued my acceleration through the streets, only half aware of where my feet were taking me. Never one for running, I gradually slowed from my sprint, out of breath and feeling oddly numb. I came to a brisk walk as I approached a Victorian house familiar to both Liza and myself – Laroche's Preparatory School for Girls.

The school was closed for summer, leaving the pristine porch was deserted. I sat on the top-most stair, leaning against the railing's post. My breathing was heavy, and I felt nauseous. The pain Mrs. Bedeau's cruel words had inflicted didn't sting, rather it ached. I recalled all the afternoons of my childhood in their apartment, viewing her as a second mother. The contrast now was stark as she revealed an inability to look past what had happened to me. A sudden sob racked my body and an urge to scream that it wasn't my fault swelled in me. As I tried to rein in my ragged breathing, Liza approached. I sat up straight, and smoothed my skirt as she sheepishly drew nearer.

"Duffy." She said, uncharacteristically soft and tentative. "I won't do this without you, because I can't do it without you. She's wrong, you know that."

I looked at her, our eyes connecting as she sat down next to me. "She's not wrong. I shouldn't be a part of your wedding, Liza. People would talk." She took my hand in hers and started to speak but I cut her off. "As long as I can remember, you talked about having a fairytale for a wedding. Don't give that up for me."

"Give up what? Another wedding with a white dress that's so big it barely fits between the pews? We've been to a million of those. And how many of those aisles had Prince Charming at the end of them? Not many. Let's face it – the wedding is going to be a nightmare. Don't make me do it alone."

I just squeezed her hand in mine while she laid her head on my shoulder.

We passed afternoon listlessly in Central Park, sprawled out in grass. Liza half-mindedly wove dandelions into crowns, discussing the wedding. "I begged my mother not to invite the Huffingtons. Missing the wedding of the year, that'd show Lindsay right for shoving me during our ballet recital."

"Liza, we were seven and Lindsay didn't know her left from her right." I said with a chuckle, recounting the on-stage hysteria that had ensued after the girls' fateful bump.

"Rotten brat." She muttered. "Really though, her brother, William, I don't much care for him either. He's at least twenty-five, and I'm sure he has yet to learn his right from his left. He is truly dense." I nodded my agreement as she sat up and with a new frankness continued. "The fact of the matter is, most of our socioeconomic equals are inbred half-wits. If it were up to me, I'd be getting married in a tiny little chapel in the county, with you and the newsies there. Naturally though," Her conviction faded into melancholy, "That would require a different groom."

I shot up from my lounging position, alarmed. "Do you mean Blink? Oh Liza, you mustn't be so silly. You could not marry him. You barely know him."

"Don't you call me silly." She said sharply before returning to her dreamy state. "I know his soul, Duffy. It is beautiful. I think about running away with him every night. If I were to just look out my window and see him waiting on the street, I don't suppose I could stop myself from going with him and never coming back. The drama and romance would be too much to pass up on. Not that he would ever do such a thing. He hates me now, but even in that hate, he wouldn't take me away from the Upper East Side. He's so sure I have the perfect life right here where I am. He thinks he'd be ruining something magical."

Put back it ease with this assurance, I leaned back on my elbows. "Perfect? One look at me and my medical records blows that theory out of the water." I said and laughed. I'd forgotten how liberating it really was to laugh at myself as Liza joined in with my giggling.

"What a pair we grew up to be, Duff." She smiled.

"There's only more to come for us."

Suddenly more serious, she turned to me. "When I'm gone, promise me you won't stop getting into trouble. I'll be stuck with nothing but orchards for acres and there won't be nearly enough havoc to reek. You must not let our reputations go to the dogs."

"It will be all too easy to behave without you here to find trouble, but I solemnly swear to give it my best effort."

"That's my girl. Raise hell." She said, placing her flower crown upon my head ceremoniously.

I felt more alive that afternoon than I had in quite sometime, tucked away in a green grove in an immense gray city. The world couldn't touch us there in that leafy refuge from the hate that compounded and clashed beyond this little sanctuary.

"If I wrote him a letter, would you take it to him?" She asked me, in a tone she rarely used. It was one that said I was allowed to tell her no.

"Liza, I don't want to go back there. I haven't told you this, but I went back after I took you home the other night, and Skittery, he, well he really chewed me out. I'm frightened to run into him."

"Dear, dear." She mused, oddly sympathetic. "You two truly don't get along, do you?" I shrugged in response, as I wasn't quite sure how to answer. "What set him off this time?"

"I asked about that girl he's always with, Natalie." I confessed. Liza's eyes widened knowingly. "What? Is she some sort of sweetheart?"

"Sweetheart is not the word for that girl. Sociopath is more accurate. She's his half-sister. Never has there been a more protective older brother or a more hopeless cause. Their father should have known better than to raise children in a brothel and expect his daughter not to whore herself around." My jaw dropped. She continued, "Skittery hates it. I think it's she's the only thing he cares for in the whole world."

"They were raised in a brothel?" I said, utterly disgusted.

"Oh yes, their father was a mob boss, before he lost everything to his treacherous right-hand man. The father is on the run from the law and his former coworkers, if you can call them that. Imagine that. It was apparently violent, horrifying for those poor, dear children. After a shoot out, and their sad little family dissolved. He became a newsie, and he tried his damnedest to keep her with him, but she couldn't stand the poverty. She was dreadful. She refused to talk to any of the boys and refused to sell, so our poor, dear Skittery had to take care of the both of them with what little money he could make. It just wasn't fair, now little boy should have to experience all that. But, she was convinced their father would come back for her. She missed the lavish, gaudy life with their father so she sought it back out at a different house of equally ill repute after a few years. She was just 13 when she ran away the first time and he hasn't been able to keep her with him for more than a week or two ever since. Skittery's been beside himself ever since. Well at least that's what Blink told me when I asked why he's such a sour-puss."

As she concluded, an odd pang occurred in my stomach and I couldn't quit pin an emotion to it.


	13. Dress Debacle

**Hello? Is anyone out there? I haven't update in months (again) so my readership has probably dwindled. I just keep coming back to this story though. I hope some of y'all are still reading (and dare I wish for reviews?) and I hope even more that you like it! Much love, more syrup.**

* * *

I was aching with the emotion of the day before falling asleep that night, turning over each part bit by bit. I began to contemplate just how challenging my adjustment back to real life had been. There were days when I longed for the lonely security and stagnant, routine life of the asylum. There, I rose every morning at seven, went to eat an unexciting breakfast at eight which I would stare at intently, avoiding the eye contact of the other wards. In the early months had so desperately clung to the notion that they were crazy and I was well, that I was different, that I was better. It was about halfway through my treatment that I realized I was far worse than the majority of them. They, after all, didn't stop speaking altogether for four months only to begin shrieking hysterically in the middle of a ball, attracting the scorn of the entire Upper East Side. The memory of that night made me cringe. Those people would understood why I screamed, why I couldn't stop until well after I was swept from the ballroom and back to my home, why I was crazy if they could have just seen the way _he _had looked at me.

* * *

Eliza begged I would come to a dress salon with her the following day, which I vehemently protested. I was uneager to see Mrs. Bedeau again, but Eliza invoked tears to counter my argument. Tossing her a handkerchief to dry her eyes, I noted how literally I was waving a white flag of surrender.

The car ride there was long and awkward. The tension of yesterday lingered uncomfortably around us. The Bedeaus' car was magnificent, but oversized for the streets. The driver clumsily wove through wagons and foot traffic, as we drew attention from onlookers. A car itself was a rarity, and the Bedeau's was a piece of mechanical art. I tucked my head down, never one to enjoy attention. Liza, however, beamed and waved, as if this was a one float parade in her honor.

We arrived the first dress shop where the saleswoman, tailor and proprietor all instantly dropped what they were doing to gush over Liza. "Who could imagine a more beautiful bride? Oh, Ms. Bedeau, tell us about your fiancé?" The saleswoman crooned as she ushered us to an arrangement of fluffy chairs adorned with dainty pillows. The tailor brought out tea and a colorful array of tiny pastries. Mrs. Bedeau scowled as Liza dithered on about the location, the bridesmaids colors, the menu, every detail she could.

"Yes, well, we aren't here to plan the wedding, we're here to find her dress," Mrs. Bedeau tutted impatiently, clearly eager for the appointment to get back on track. "Perhaps we should start."

Liza looked put out to have her discussion end so abruptly, and the saleswoman was briefly taken aback before regaining her composure. "Why, yes, of course, Madame." She smiled, expertly disguising the offense she had taken. "Let's discuss styles. What are we thinking?"

"Traditional."

"Glamourous!" The Bedeau women looked at each other, surprised by the others response. "Mother, don't you think I should choose the style?"

"Quite frankly, Elizaveta, I do not. You are not paying for it, or anything, so what I say goes."

"It's my wedding!" She exclaimed. The blood was beginning to boil and I felt even more uncomfortable, as was the staff.

"I am sure we can find something that meets both of your expectations," the storeowner smiled toothily. "Come, dear, let's try some dresses on."

The staff swept her into a back room and left Mrs. Bedeau and I in their wake. Silence pulsated between us, and I shifted uncomfortably, unexpectedly aching to be with my own mother. She concentrated sternly as stirred her tea with pursed lips. I rose from the plushy sofa and wandered to the window. My sudden movement only elicited a swift look from Liza's mother before she returned to stirring her tea with a great deal of agitation. Liza had embarrassed her, and I did not want to be the victim she took that out on.

It felt like an eon before Liza reemerged, but her entrance easily captured the room's attention, drawing it away from the lingering tension. She was a vision, a lace bodice floating atop a white cloud of tulle and bows. The collar wrapped delicately around her neck and the sleeves wove around her small arms. The only ruination of the perfect picture was the stony expression she sported.

"Why on Earth are you making that ugly face, Elizaveta?" Her mother barked.

"Because I wouldn't be caught dead in this dress!" She retorted bitterly. "It's a travesty, an abomination, a nightmare." I wrung my hands together, preparing to witness a gruesome battle.

"There's nothing wrong with it. We are not repeating your debutant. This is you wedding dress."

"No!" She cried, a truly organic despair in her voice. "Mother, no! I won't wear it. I won't!" She was shaking violently. "If you ruin this, Mother, I swear I won't marry him. I'll run away. I swear it, I will!" It was too late though; the money was being exchanged between a stoic Madame Bedeau and an uncertain shopkeeper. "Duffy, don't let her." Tears streamed from Liza's face as the attention turned to me.

I gaped, as conflict tore me up. "Mrs. Bedeau," I implored meekly. "It's beautiful, but perhaps Liza could try another-"

"I think it's time you went home Drusilla." She cut me off, her voice frigid. "We wouldn't want anyone to get _hysteric_ now, would we?"

The jab was unsubtle and cruel. I stepped backwards and fumbled for the door. "Liza, I'm sorry," were the only words I managed to mumble before retreating.

"I hate you!" Liza shrieked at her mother, though I felt I deserved it more than she. I couldn't even stand up for her. I was a coward. I turned back to see Liza tearing at the dress, while the dressmaker looked on with horror.

I'd never seen Liza like this. She acted out often, undoubtedly, but not like this. There was a true disregard and a boiling anger in her. Malice did not become my best friend, and I didn't know how to help her. I needed the help of someone who would.

The wooden door was scarred and looked like it would dissolve after another summer storm, and perhaps that was why I knocked so gently. Half-praying it would go unanswered, I waited anxiously, internally acknowledging that my trepid knock was based in cowardice.

To my surprise an old man stood before me when the door opened inwards. "Ah. Hello, miss." He said, surprised by the unfamiliar face. "Might I help you?"

I stuck out a hand, and introduced myself. "Sir, my name's Duffy."

Taking mine he responded, "Pleased to meet you. I'm Kloppman. Come in, why don't ya?"

"Oh," I hesitated. "I was just looking for one of the newsies." I didn't want to go into the Lodging House alone. The idea of going into a building with no one but a strange man made my stomach turn. My heart pounded harder as the situation escalated to outright dangerous in my imagination. What if he pulled me in? No one knew where I was. Why had I come?

"Well, they're out selling papes now, miss. Who were you looking for?" A sudden protective edge seasoned his voice. "Whatdya need 'em for anyways?"

"Blink. I just needed to talk with him." I sputtered. "I can just come back another time. I'm really sorry to bother you, Mr. Kloppman, sir."

"I'll take you to his selling spot." A much younger voice offered from behind me. A slightly calloused and ink-stained hand stretched towards me. "How are you, Miss Diamantopoulos?" Skittery came to my side. "She's a friend, Klopp." He answered the old man's unspoken question and eased his defensive attitude.

"Just lookin' out for you boys." He tutted before turning back into the house.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to the punch. "Stop lookin' so damn scared of everything." He chided. "It makes people think you're an easy target."

I nodded my understanding as he turned to walk away. I followed and he continued, "What're ya doing here? Leave poor Blink alone. Leave me alone too while you're at it."

"Please. I don't want to bother anyone. I just really need help." My voice cracked with sadness and nerves in equal measure, as I stopped trying to keep pace. "Please."

He looked back at me and sighed. "What'd I just tell ya about lookin' scared? You can't be so doe-eyed in this neighborhood." He shook his head. "Listen, I'll take you to Blink if you tell me why first."

I met his request, and explained the situation and my fear for Liza. "I know you think she's a rotten little girl, but she's not. She's a complex person with just as much feeling as you've got and she's scared out of her mind. I can't help her, but I just know he could. She needs him so much right now," I concluded. His face cracked a little, as if he were seeing Liza as something more than the glittery object of his annoyance for the first time.

"Are you scared of me?" He questioned unexpectedly.

"Terrified," I confessed.

"I thought so. This is important to ya?"

"It's all I can do to help her."

"Fine." He conceded. "I'll take you to him, under one condition. No more crying. I won't yell if you don't cry." To both our surprise, his last demand made me laugh the kind of laugh that tingles through your spine. "You're nuts," he groaned. I shook my head to the affirmative and laughed a little more.


End file.
